The Voice of Dan, Resident of Bethlehem.
Was it just another game of Chinese whispers, a message passed from person to person — or a tall tale told at a bar, fuelled by alcohol and drugs? Or was there more to it than that?
I had been told the story by a friend... who said he had heard it from a workmate... who had got it from his landlady... who had received it from a shepherd... who apparently had witnessed it first-hand.
It was a saga revolving around a child — born in a stable and laid in an animals‘ feeding trough. He was a child who somehow commanded respect and offered dignity to all who encountered him, a child whose authority was transcendent without a word being uttered.
The talk was that this child was the one that had been promised, the holy one of God, the Messiah.
This was the story I had been told. So, what was I to do? I needed to see for myself. I felt compelled to take a trip to the stable to see if it was real, to meet the child face to face.
I arrived and found everything just as I had been told. There was his mother cradling him in her arms, his father keeping a vigilant watch — and the boy himself, helpless, vulnerable and yet powerful in innocence. I knew I was in the presence of greatness; every hair on my body seemed to dance. I felt known and loved and valued just by being there.
The young woman smiled at me. “Would you like to hold him?” she asked.
Hold him? Me, a poor and unimportant peasant? Hold Him! “I’d love to.”
I held out my arms and slowly the baby was placed into them. I was overcome with emotion. Tears fell uncontrollably from my eyes. I don’t normally show my feelings, but at that moment in time I had no choice. I knew he was no ordinary baby and that I would never be the same again.
Eventually, I pulled myself away, wished the family well and left. Now the ball was in my court. It was my move. What was I going to do — pass on the ‘Chinese whisper‘ or keep it to myself?
My experience had been life-changing. I had arrived on the edge of society, low down in the social rankings; an outcast, unloved and undervalued. Yet I had been welcomed just as I was. I had been handed the saviour of the world, trusted with him, and through that I have been I touched by God himself.
So how could I keep quiet? How could I keep the story to myself? For this was a story of transformation, mine and the world's. I knew that I had changed. Now others needed the chance to respond. I no longer wanted to whisper. It was now vital to shout from the rooftops, bellow from the depths of the earth: “The Messiah is here! I have seen him, held him and been made new in him! Hear my story and pass it on!”
Prayer
God of the poor and the outcast,
who welcomed the strangers and the unloved,
help me to welcome others in your name.
When I am touched with your love,
give me the courage to share my story with those around me,
and to tell my friends and neighbours
how you have transformed the world.
Amen.
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